Their Failings
by Femme Bono
Summary: After Vision and Ultron face off in the forest, what became of Ultron? PURE schmaltz! Angst and fluff warnings. Rated for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I (of course) do not own anything related to Marvel or the Avengers franchise. This is purely a work of fanfiction, and I make nothing from it.

* * *

A/N: you may want to strap in for this one. And if all else fails, blame Spader. I never had a thing to do with comics prior to him swaggering around in a motion capture suit.

* * *

Prologue:

" _There is grace in their failings."  
"You're _unbearably _naïve!"  
"Well…I was born yesterday."  
_  
He lunged, and even as he did, the mindstone set off a blaring charge of bright light aimed right at his reactor. His sensors exploded at the onslaught of a searing overload of data. Zettabytes of data uploaded themselves into his consciousness, overwhelming him with sentient experiences and visions. Even though his visual sensors were blinded, everything he had overlooked before now came crashing into his mind—a howitzer treatment of emotion, a swirling storm of all that is good in the universe enveloped his essence. Everything that he had missed before. Vision veritably blasted him with positivity.

Where before he had seen images of war, murder, rape, destruction, famine, and pillaging, he now saw live births, flowers coming to bloom, smiles, babies of all shapes, sizes and species, Christmas, singing, cheering, acts of altruism and bravery, and he felt all of it. All of it. Wonders of nature, the good in humanity. Undulating waves of feeling swathed his mind and washed over him. Pride, joy, gratefulness, agape, ecstasy and love swamped him so strongly he fell to his knees weakened by the swarm of emotion, and liquid tears of blue nanite oozed from his visual sockets. The light and feelings flared to a crescendo, an illuminating pitch, and then eclipsed into silence and dark.

The absence of it felt barren and hollow; Ultron had fallen, face first into the forest floor, and the ruby light of his eyes dimmed to nothing. Overdone, his essence seeped out, the blue nanites spreading thin enough to attach themselves to the radio waves and drifting away into the ether. The parts of his consciousness floated close enough to each other, but not so close as to become substantial. He drifted for miles, feeling all too much, and on sheer instinct for preservation, found himself hurtling toward a place humming with radio, infrared, and gamma waves, right to the crux of the place, and let himself settle into the body of a human. He seated himself right into the core of this man, wafting through the tunnel-like machine scanning his brain for traces of traumatic injury.

He seemed to be brain dead at first glance, yet the intern running the imaging screens dropped the pen she'd been chewing when the damaged areas suddenly changed visibly onscreen. They seemed to be righting themselves, healing virtually as she watched. She had never seen anything like it before. His concussions started shrinking, the swelling going down as she sat there agape. Then his limbs started moving... and his eyes opened. Nick Vanzandt had just gone from brain dead to wide awake.


	2. Chapter 2

A New Ultron Rising

Nanites streamed into Nick's body, absorbing into the blood stream, binding to cells and rewriting the DNA. Streams of it revamped itself into a steely adamantium core bonded with the vertebrae, reinforcing the discs that had been severed separating the skull from the spine. Threads of it shot into the brain, absorbing cellular memories and what lingering knowledge of the man's life remained in the dimmed recesses of what was left of his mind. It rushed along neural pathways, tripping synapses and causing the nerves to twitch and his reflexes to jolt his limbs into movement. It remade him.

As the MRI machine drew him out of the tunnel-like opening, Nick's body took a gasping breath and opened his eyes. The intern who had been watching these developments hit a nurse call button before she came running in to check on him, utterly astounded at his rapid and very visible recovery. He sat up, stripping off the IV and pulling out the trach tube for the ventilator.

"Wait, wait, wait! Stop!" she urged, quickly taking his hands in her own. "You'll hurt yourself!"

"Hospital…" he said hoarsely, his throat dry and cracking, "this is a hospital."

"Yes, Mr Vanzant," she said as he settled back, still trying to tug at the feeding tube and colostomy bag. "We were trying to get imaging of your brain but—" she trailed off, not knowing how to explain what she just saw.

"I have…a body," he said, touching his chest and then gazing at his hands. Then he began to laugh, and a chill of fear went down the girl's spine.

* * *

Ashley Barton had zoned out a mile or so back, the steady crunch under her feet and familiar sights of the trail left her lost in thought, lost in the song, and blissfully removed from the situation she had been dealing with of late. It was almost mid-year, students settled into the classroom routine—assignments, tests, projects, all the minutiae of high school—and here, in the midst of her humdrum happiness, dropped a meteor. Or one nearly had, she reasoned, on the other side of the world. About a week or so after she had lost him. Her man. Her one and only. Nick. Her chest tightened at the thought of seeing him in a hospital bed, broken and unresponsive, not even knowing she was there and not even knowing she was alive. Because he wasn't. Before she could feel the dark grief rising in her, she turned and began her route back, choking back a sob.

When she first heard the news of the fight in South Africa, every television in every classroom that day had been switched on. They all watched aghast as downtown Johannesburg was engulfed in the battle between those strange bots and the Avengers, when the Hulk and Iron Man grappled like street thugs in creating panic and chaos in their wake. By this point it felt nearly like business as usual, she had even contemplated turning off the TV and getting back to the task at hand, and yet as the riot police moved in she saw him. Suited up with the tactical peacekeeping team on assignment there and ready for action, Nick stood at the front line between the inhuman mutated people fighting against robots gone haywire; they headed out in front of the local police giving them cover. One of the bots, which had clearly gone out of control, aimed a blast at the line of soldiers as they moved forward. And time stopped. She saw Nick and his friend, Sgt Cary Downs absorb the blast and fall, as if in slow motion, into a ravine that had opened in the middle of the street from the blasts and mutants' destruction. Her vision blurred. Later one of the kids would say that she screamed, but she did not recall. Everything focused sharply to a pinpoint, and she barely registered the tinny voice of the news anchor on the screen. "Those are US soldiers down…" "Police casualties also on the scene, some civilians, but no count as to the injured or dead as the scene unfolds…"

She stopped her run, slowed to a walk, took a breath, and tried to regroup. In her mind she flashed to the scene in the hospital. Nick lying there broken, gone. And no leverage to use in the argument with her once future in-laws as they regaled her with all the reasons they should hang on, not say goodbye, give him the chance to live. Ashley gave up trying to salvage her dignity there in the park as she remembered the arguments thereafter. The sob erupted and she sunk to a bench and let the tears flow. "That is not him!" she remembered yelling at one point. "That is not my Nick. He's not even there anymore. There's no way he would want this!" It was as much as she could say before one of the orderlies escorted her out.

She heard birds set up twittering in the trees above her and returned her thoughts to the present. Ashley sat for a while, trying to get her composure back, then returned to the home they had shared, bereft, alone, to a deep quiet that threatened to engulf her. Not three steps in the door her phone buzzed, and she finally stopped to check her missed calls. One from her fiancé's parents. And one, amazingly, from the hospital. Checking her voicemail to see what they could possibly want now, she listened and sank to the floor, one hand pressed to her lips as she sat numbly, not knowing what to think or feel at the news on the recording.

"Ash," said the man on the other end shakily, "you won't believe it hon, but we were right. He's awake!"

* * *

Ashley rushed through the hospital corridor with an armload of clean clothes, her fingers clasping Nick's shoes. As she approached the door to his room, his parents both turned—Sylvia scarcely making eye contact—and Bill, as always the talker wanting to bridge the gap and smooth things over.

"Sweetheart," he said, touching a placating hand to her shoulder. "He's in there, and he says he's ready to go home," Bill told her before she could even ask how he was. At her questioning furrow he carried on, "he's fine. He says he feels great, and he wanted his clothes."

He had already said this on the phone with her, but now, in the stark light of the sterile white hallway it really began to set in.

"He was brain dead," she ventured, shaking her head. "They're going to let him come home?"

"Says he wants privacy," Bill said chagrined, a bit of a tremble in his voice giving away the hurt that caused. "Says privacy and quiet, and he'll be good as new… but hon, he's a bit—well—off still. I think that hit he took jostled some things around. Just doesn't seem himself, but I'm sure it'll sort out."

 _Ya think?_ She wanted to say. All she could really do was nod at this and step to the door as the elder Vanzants stepped aside. With her free hand, Ashley pushed the door handle down and eased the door open. She walked slowly, quietly into the sanctity of the room and nearly gasped. He stood facing the window, nude, stretching almost languidly as tendons and bones creaked and popped. He sighed, scratched and hummed appreciatively, flexing his arms and gazing at his hands as he wiggled the digits. Then he turned, stiffly, slowly, and his head rotation towards her almost too far. The creepy reminder of what his body had endured left her clearing her throat when it constricted painfully with the tears that threatened again. He met her gaze and it seemed to take a moment before recognition lit his features.

"You must be—I mean, obviously you are—Ashley," he ground out stiltedly. His voice was coarse, as if not used to being used. He seemed, almost robotic, she thought. She shoved the thought aside just as quickly as it had come and all but thrust the clothes into his arms. Eyes tearing up, she nodded and turned, rushing into the bathroom to try and calm herself down.

"Humans," he said with a soft grunt.


	3. Chapter 3

Not Quite Human

The trip home was mostly silent. They both stopped trying to make small talk, and after about ten minutes Ashley even turned off the radio. She chanced surreptitious glances at him as she drove, trying to pinpoint just why he seemed off. There was something about him that was just… _weird_ , she reasoned. _Was it the brain damage?_ The doctor said he was fine, he had passed every test with flying colors, and they had still wanted to keep him overnight for observation. But he refused. That was true to character.

But what was it?

"This is dreadfully slow, isn't it?" he said, cutting into her thoughts.

 _Dreadfully? Who talks like that?_ "Traffic?" she glanced over briefly, curious. She had been going only five miles per hour over, but he never complained about her driving before. Usually he turned the music up and stared off into the distance.

"Well, I mean, as opposed to flying, of course."

"Of course," she said, thoroughly confused.

She shook her head as they arrived at home, took a deep breath as they pulled into the garage, and watched stupefied as he hopped out and opened her door for her. _What IS this_ , she marveled. He followed her into the house, spotted the cat on the kitchen counter as they swept through and went to pet it. Ashley watched stupefied as the cat panicked, arched and hissing, and shot off growling into the living room.

"Guess she doesn't like me very much," Nick reasoned, smiling ruefully.

" _He's_ _your_ cat," Ashley replied, suddenly chilled.

Nick begged off to go shower while Ashley pulled something together for dinner. She decided she'd keep it simple—a jar of pasta sauce with noodles and some bagged salad. Twenty minutes later she stepped into the bathroom to find it full of steam and all too muggy. And he was singing…songs from _Pinocchio_?

"Nick?" she called worriedly.

He stifled a yelp and popped his head out from behind the shower curtain. "Yes? Did you want to join me? It's marvelously hot!"

His face was pink from the heat, and she watched a trickle of water weave its way down his chest, a single rivulet mapping his way through the downy curls. It had been too long… she swallowed and shook her head. "It's…dinner's ready," she nodded, getting her bearings again, and left without knowing what else to say.

He ate ravenously at turns, then sometimes so slow and savoring it looked almost obscene how rapturous his expression was. The ravenous she supposed she could explain by his two solid weeks in the hospital with nothing but a feeding tube. It stood to reason that even jar spaghetti and some field greens would be luxury, but the slowness and downright beatific expression from Ragu had her snorting into her plate.

"What is it," he smiled, wiping his mouth with his finger and then licking the digit.

"I mean…it's not Parma, but…I'm glad you like it."

"Italy?"

"No, the restaurant down the block we went to…on our anniversary?"

"Oh…oh! Of course, that one. Named after the …city, of course."

After that, dinner conversation devolved into silence that stretched out for several minutes.

"You asked me to marry you there," Ashley said softly.

Nick took so long to respond she was afraid he wasn't going to at all. Then, when he did, it almost made things worse.

"Sweetheart—"

"'Sweetheart' is what you called Nicole," she said, throat constricting. "And she signed all her texts, Nic and Nick."

He looked lost for a moment, searching, and then recognition dawned.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean to call me the other girl's name?" she tearfully ground out. "Is it all just kind of getting mixed up in there?" she spat, swirling her hands. She tossed her paper towel on her plate and rose, setting it beside the sink. Bracing her hands on the counter she hunched, head hanging dejectedly.

"Do you know how strange this all is?" she said, not turning. "Three weeks ago I find out you're cheating on me and the next thing I know they're life flighting you back here with a slim to none chance that you'll ever see the light of day again. And now here you are."

She turned at last and looked up slowly through tearful eyes to see his stricken expression.

"I mourned you, before you even died. And now, I don't know if it's because of the attack, because of what happened before, or… if I just don't even know you. But you seem like a complete stranger to me. And I don't know what to do."

Her voice broke as she said this last, and she put both hands up as if in surrender, shook her head and walked out. Ashley was bone tired, and felt wrung out from entirely too much crying. She felt she'd cried more in the last few weeks than in her whole lifetime, and didn't know how much more she could take before she fractured completely. Already she was in pieces it seemed.

With nothing but silence coming from the kitchen, she stepped out of her little canvas flats, took her bra off, passing it through her shirt sleeve, and crawled into bed with the rest of her clothes still on.

* * *

It was full dark when she woke. The lights coming from under the door told her that Nick was still up, and she could not fathom what he would be doing. Surely he would tire easily, she thought. But the sight that met her when she walked down the short hall toward their living space had her gasping. The television was going, as was the music on his cell phone, there was a trail of his military uniforms and gear leading from the garage where they were kept, and books stacked everywhere. Sporting equipment lay hither and yon. It almost looked as though the place had been ransacked.

She nudged a basketball aside and would have crept into the garage to look for him, until she heard a noise in the kitchen. A low male hum of approval. Ashley eased around the doorway and looked, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever he was doing before she went back to bed, but he turned as she peeked around the corner.

"Ah, Ashley, you're up!" he said, around a mouthful of peanut butter. There was a bowl in his hand of what looked like a mix of pb and j, but the kitchen surrounding him was destroyed utterly. Flour and bowls littered the counter. Dishes were stacked in the sink as well, the dishwasher was going, and there was a pie on the stove cooling, it looked like. Beside it on the counter was a pan of baked fish, a trifle bowl with whipped cream and fruits, some mangled looking asparagus, and what may have been scrambled eggs.

Noticing her beleaguered expression, he held up a placating hand, saying quickly, "I couldn't sleep and felt like experimenting. I wasn't sure what I wanted, so I just started trying things. Everything—" he laughed nervously "—it seems."

Ashley made a strangled noise and put a hand on her chest as if to comfort herself.

"I've been sort of cleaning as I go, once I realized it got a bit out of hand."

"Who are you?" she said, shaking her head. His expression went stony.

"Why do you ask?"

"Nick…you burn water! And now all of a sudden you can cook?" she broke into almost frantic laughter and eased herself onto a chair at their breakfast table.

He laughed with her for a moment, mentally reminding himself to investigate more of Nick Vanzant's memories before he gave himself away.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: short one for now, to give you an idea of where his head is right now. We're leading up to what Vision's attack resulted in, which is a loose end, along with everything that he has to answer for in his wake.

Ultron Rebooted

Ultron had given up watching television about an hour after Ashley left him at the table and fallen asleep in her room. Their room, he thought with an arched brow. He had wondered briefly if she would want to resurrect any carnal relationship they had had with each other. From Nick's memories it had seemed a little bland, but he may not be a good one to judge. That being said, he did enjoy the reactions that _particular_ part of his body gave him when he took a shower earlier…he would love to try it out with her and see if they could do better. She seemed attractive enough.

But the television killed any thoughts he had about exploring this new body and all it could do; all he saw on every news channel was himself and the destruction he had wrought. Even seeing images of Tony Stark at a press conference hurt. So he started switching through channels. But that reminded him of Vision's onslaught, and he had to walk away. He found himself in the garage and started going through things there. Ultron drug a large duffel bag through the doorway and pawed through it. He found gym equipment shoved in a corner, camping equipment in another, a few sparse tools and buckets of paint. Balls of various types for sports.

He craved the sensory experiences he had been denied as an AI. It seemed there was a vast difference in how he processed input now. He wondered at the feel and textures of things. The sound of the cat meowing to be let out, the kick of the air conditioning unit in the hallway, the smells of the meal Ashley had cooked for him. The blips and noises as he scanned through Nick's phone. It had apps and games aplenty, but it reminded him that he was locked out of the internet and all its vastness. He didn't know what to make of the music library Nick had stored on there; it was all angry and cacophonic, so that got abandoned as a bad job.

That was when he had moved to the kitchen, after setting down the phone. He wandered the house as quietly as he could, but wound up in the kitchen eating leftovers and poking through cabinets and drawers. The strong and subtle flavors of foods was indescribable. He ran the cold spaghetti over his tongue trying to discern each herb used in the bottled sauce. Then he opened the fridge and found all the ingredients for things, books on top of the fridge to give him ideas for meals to make and sample, and with that he started experimenting with what he could find on hand.

When she found him at last, he realized that she was suspicious and wrong-footed. The girl sensed that something was amiss about him, but fortunately due to the problems they had and his injuries, she could be fooled. For a time. He shoved the thought aside that she may realize what had happened, but "what are the odds," he muttered to himself.

* * *

He did need some way to occupy his time, something productive. Something _more_. Ultron knew through Nick's memories that he had employment as a soldier, that his leaders would want him back in his previous occupation. But that was too small a scope for what Ultron wanted. It did, however, give him an idea. In the breaking light of day, as Ashley slept on after the awkward discussion at midnight, he plucked Nick's keys off the rack by the door, traipsed into the garage, and going on sheer muscle memory, opened the door and drove away into the breezy morning.

He drove in silence in Nick's truck, enjoying the slow easy gait of the machine, noticing the low hum of the air conditioning and the thrum of the engine. After a while he lowered the windows and felt the vague tickle of his hair blowing in the breeze and savored it ghosting across his skin. He felt warmed by the sun coming through the windshield. Every one of his sense was constantly buzzing with the input of things humans took for granted. For Ultron they were all new experiences, and he reveled in every one.

Ultron flashed Nick's badge at the gate and drove onto the military post without incident. He knew, or remembered thanks to Nick's memories how to navigate the morass of tan buildings and large brick barracks. Starships, they called them. He chuckled as he guided the truck into a parking spot before yet another non-descript building. Though it was a Sunday, he knew there would be a guard posted for the boys billeted upstairs, but he could access his office quickly and easily enough. If anyone were to come by of course, he could play it off as Nick and make some off-handed comment about not being able to stay away. It didn't come to that though, and the CQ guard didn't come by on his rounds before Ultron accomplished what he needed to do. He slid a hand over the computer and felt the telltale crackle and buzz through the palm of his hand as neurons and nanites connected.

Somewhere in the depths of the closed network that the military used, he found a small base not too far away that had been mostly abandoned. He took no time in assigning himself there, and while he was at it, sent orders for equipment and materials to be sent there as well. Finally he printed out a copy of his new orders for transfer and the cargo manifests for everything he had ordered. It was time to get to work, and Ultron had a mission.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: most profuse apologies, and I hope you're still hanging in there! Here is a long-awaited update.**_

 _Almost_ Man on a Mission

Ashley woke to find Nick gone. Not entirely sure she was surprised, relieved, or perturbed. For entirely too long now, she wasn't sure just what to feel. Traipsing through the house, she started to pick up things as she came across them, until disgustedly, dejectedly, she dropped them. _Let_ him _pick up this mess_ , she groused, _he's a big boy_. She got a cup of coffee brewing instead and leaned over the counter waiting for it to percolate.

Sipping the strong brew once it was done, she double checked the garage and confirmed his truck was gone. _So weird_ , she thought, then wondered briefly if he would sneak out to touch base with Nicole again. It was an unwelcome thought, and she tried to casually dismiss it by considering that he may have forgotten their little trysts entirely. The doctor did say there may be some amnesia or bouts of strange behavior though. Figuring she was in for a bumpy ride, Ashley decided to shower and see if she could get some work done before Nick got home. No need to cook, definitely, since he'd made plenty of leftovers the night before…might as well grade some essays, she reasoned.

* * *

By the time he came in though, she had given up grading papers, and for a while she flicked listlessly through channels before giving up the notion that she could find something to take her mind off his whereabouts. She worried her thumbnail trying not to think about where he might be and vacillated between worrying that he had fallen out somewhere, blacked out behind the wheel, gone to see _her_ … he could be anywhere.

Fortunately just at that moment, she heard the garage door lifting, and scrambled out of the desk chair where she had been contemplating checking his emails to see if there were any new messages. She tripped over a combat boot he'd left lying beside the coffee table the night before, right when he walked through the door. Ashley sucked in a breath and tried not to curse, biting her lip instead as her toes throbbed.

"Sweetheart—sorry— _Buttons_ , are you okay?" he caught himself as he used the wrong term of endearment again, quickly corrected it to the one Nick had reserved for her. At the same time, Ultron mentally shook his head at the tragic waste of time in doing something so duplicitous. The irony of integrity being one of a soldier's core values did not escape him either. He wondered what other banal secrets old Nicholas had locked in his feeble brain.

Ashley barely contained a snarl as he once again called her the wrong name, then took a deliberate breath when he fixed it, and shook her head, "I just stubbed my toe on your boot. I wasn't expecting you for a while, and I spooked."

Memories clicked through Ultron's brain at a familiar scene – Nick coming home to find Ashley sitting at his desk, her face tearstained.

 _May as well nip this one right now_ , he surmised. "Ashley—Buttons—I'm not going to see her ever again." _I have no use for her, and barely much more for you_ , he thought to himself. "I've had a…an otherworldy experience that has left me…reevaluating some things. Just what I needed, if you ask me. I've gained a whole new perspective on life."

Ashley realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it.

"You sound like someone else entirely."

"I feel like a whole new man," he chirped smugly. The sarcastic smile was reminiscent enough of Nick that she relaxed a little. Ashley hadn't even realized she was tense until she felt herself breathe again.

"So ah, what were you up to on a Sunday morning? Decided to start going to church or…?"

He made the driest of chuckles and glanced over to the bookcase. Sitting on its side was _The Atheist's Bible_. "Oh Buttons, I haven't changed that much. A little hard to think there's a higher power than myself."

He grinned winningly and tilted his head. She almost fought back a laugh, except that he almost seemed serious.

"So ah…since you're a new man and you're starting over and all…maybe you could stop calling me Buttons? You have to know I've always hated that."

Again another memory surfaced, this time of her rolling her eyes while he tweaked one of her nipples, making some passing comment about how they were so small they reminded him of little buttons.

Ultron was suddenly very glad that this man was dead, and had left him such a serviceable body. He clearly had been using it for all the wrong purposes and being a complete clod about it besides.

"I don't see why not," he answered reasonably. "As to where I've been, since you asked, and I obviously need to alleviate your mind, I went to find whomever was pulling sentry duty today and see what news I could find on how things were going at work. Overall, not what I expected."

She got that unsettled feeling again watching him walk about the room. He idly stopped and tilted to the side to look at something, his movements looking jerky still. Almost robotic, she mused, but it must be a side effect of the trauma. After all, his spinal cord had nearly been severed. Surely that would affect movements after such a miraculous healing…right?

"What is it?" she wondered aloud, catching herself too late, but luckily he interpreted her question as applying to his story.

"I've been reassigned."

"Wait…you've been…"

"I've been drawn out of special forces, as they think I've been too damaged to be ready for duty on that level – probably ever again – and instead I have been stationed elsewhere for light duty. Permanent profile."

"They stationed you somewhere else? Like another post altogether? We'll have to move!"

"Actually no, as it happens, they are reopening the old Army depot and making it a classified facility." He conveniently neglected to mention that it was he who changed their designation of the old post.

"The old depot? That's hours away!"

"I can commute," he returned.

That feeling came back again, that niggling sense that something was off. She had trusted her gut before where he was concerned. "What aren't you telling me?"

He laughed, lighting on a better epithet for her at last "precious, you can be sure I'm never telling you everything. I can't. Nature of the job."

He kissed her forehead and wandered off to the kitchen. Feeling peckish, he started rifling through the leftovers he'd made, thinking asparagus and fish would do the trick. Already, hunger pangs were proving a nuisance. After a point, you just couldn't ignore them.


	6. Chapter 6

Female Intuition 

Asparagus and fish reheated was not only godawful, but pungent to boot. Every fan was on, every window open, and copious amounts of air freshener later the smell of reheated fish still clung to every fiber in the house. The asparagus had gone wilty and limp, so Ultron resorted to eating another peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"Where's Harley?" Ashley asked all of a sudden. "I know we have screens in the windows but—"

 _Harley? Oh the cat_.

"Oh, I let her out this morning before I left," he replied companionably. "She wanted out."

Ashley's eyes went wide. "You let her out of the house?! She's an indoor cat, Nick!"

 _Oops_.

"Well honey, we can go look for her I suppose, but she wouldn't stop yowling so I didn't know what else to do."

An hour later they returned in defeat after covering a couple of blocks and asking whomever was outside at the time. Nobody had seen the little calico. 

* * *

The rest of the week proved uneventful, aside from Harley showing up three days later and scarfing her kibble. She may not have eaten, but she also still seemed very fearful and unrelenting about Nick. Ashley tried to explain this away with the fact that animals could sense illness in people, but she knew that generally they were more accommodating and even comforting in those cases. Harley seemed downright petrified.

With the dawn of another week, Ashley tried to put all the strange inconsistencies out of her mind, especially as Nick prepared himself to start work already. It made no sense. It seemed to her that the military would want to make sure he was fit for duty and ready to return to work, and give him plenty of time to heal. That worry was mitigated by the fact that the doctors gave him a perfectly clean bill of health. Except for his blood work, but the sample had apparently been contaminated with a foreign substance.

So with trepidation still, she heard Nick get up early for PT that Monday and take his uniform with him. He said the night before that he would shower at work, which he normally never did, and no sooner was he out the door then she streamed out of bed and threw a hoodie on over her pajama pants and tank top. By the time she pulled out of the driveway, she could still see him at the end of the block preparing to turn.

Ashley tried to follow as stealthily as she could, far enough back and yet close enough to see where he went. Through town it was easy to avoid detection, and after a while she realized that he was indeed headed in the direction of the old Army depot. Since it was one way in, and a lonely highway at that, she did not want to call attention to the fact that the same car followed him all the way out of town. Trying to avoid his attention, she pulled off the road just long enough to call into the automated service for school employees and order a substitute for the day. She wanted to see just what Nick was doing out here in the middle of nowhere, because no matter how much she tried to reason away the strangeness, she still felt there was something very wrong with him and this whole situation.

Her call completed, Ashley checked the rearview to see if there were any vehicles approaching and tried to ignore the lead ball that she felt in her stomach at having to stake out her errant fiancé, at a deserted old military site of all places. For that was exactly what it was. There were no guards posted at the gatehouse, no fencing topped with concertina wire to keep out intruders. For all intents and purposes, the place looked completely abandoned. From her crouching position peeking around the corner of the guard shack, she could see Nick take his uniform out of the car and walk to one of the desolate buildings several meters away. Once he was inside, she jogged to a closer building from the one he had gone into.

It was a large underground bunker, built into the side of a small hill, with steel doors at the front giving it the look of a massive old bomb shelter. Here and there among several stacks and pallets of obviously new cardboard boxes and thick plastic tough boxes, she saw ancient ammo canisters –all empty of course—and dilapidated wooden crates. It was fully apparent that not only was Nick the only one here now, but that he had taken over a disused building for his own purposes. On a whim, Ashley whipped out her phone and started snapping shots of the warehouse full of boxes. They were all marked as Adamantium.

She didn't understand what that was, but the lead ball in her gut had grown to the size of a boulder. There was no denying now that her fiancé was up to something way bigger than she was ready to face. Who should she call though? The MPs? Regular police? FBI? Thoroughly shaken, she eased herself back through the doorway and closer to the other building. The door stood open, a brazen act in itself that belied the fact that he did not expect anyone to happen by and approach to see what someone was doing there. Ashley crept as quietly as she could to the gap created by the door hinged open from the doorway. With a secure hiding spot behind the door, she watched Nick fashioning what appeared to be a robot. And not just any robot. He was remaking the Ultron bot who had threatened the world only weeks prior.

Ashley struggled for calm as best she could, creeping away as quietly as possible. Once she passed the guard shack, she broke into a sprint and reached her car breathless – not from the exertion, but from sheer fright. He hadn't seen her, as engrossed as he was in his work. And as she sped off from the scene, one hand viced on the wheel and the other tapped buttons on her phone with shaking fingers. She was so rattled though that she had to pull off again not far down the road to finish googling the hotline she needed. With that one brief look inside the second bunker told her everything she needed to know about the first: Nick wasn't just remaking Ultron, he was building several of them. And now she knew exactly who to call as the operator answered the hotline, "Stark Industries, how may I direct your call?"


End file.
